Accepting Fate:Love Lost and Passion Found
by RenegadeWriter
Summary: A young woman's life is shattered and Jack's "Good man" status is in question. Paths cross and passions ignite!
1. Authors Note and Prologue

Authors Note:

Welcome one and all to my little world. This will be my first fanfiction, so don't expect anything grand and glorious. Along with the usual disclaimers and such, I wanted to say a few words about why I am writing this story.

First of all, I want to say how very impressed I am with some of the authors I have encountered in my journey through various genres on this website. My hat is off to you, and I have tried to acknowledge excellence when I found it. I have great respect for _all_ authors who make the effort to put their vision into a format wherein it can be shared with others. Second, I have been a big chicken myself, and have put off my own desires to write out of fear of failure to produce something worthwhile. I'm not getting any younger, so I decided to throw caution to the wind and give it a try. If it turns out to be even half as good as the best I have seen, I will be pretty satisfied.

I am dedicating this to two people who have inspired me along the way:

**Firevalkyrie **– You know I am a fan. I am dedicating this to you because you are pursuing your dreams, and I believe you will achieve them. When you make your first movie, I expect it to be dedicated to me! LOL (jk!) You ROCK!

**Renee **– You will probably never read this, because your stories were removed from this site. If by some chance you do see this, please know that 'Redemption' was the best novel I have ever read, and I cried when I realized it was gone. Your exquisite writing left me in awe, and brightened my life at a very difficult time. Yours is a rare talent; thank you for sharing it.

Because I am a perfectionist to the point of being anal about it, I decided to write this entire story before even submitting the first chapter. Then I thought, "Hey! That's stupid, ya big wuss!". It just pains me when I start reading a fic that I enjoy and the author abandons it or goes months between updates. I will try not to do that. If people respond to this and like what they see, I will do the best I can to update at least once a week. I actually have the story completed in outline form, but that doesn't mean anything. I type at the rate of about 25 WPM, and my keyboard hates me. I'm also very picky about EVERYTHING, so patience is appreciated.

Thank you for allowing me to share this story with you. Hopefully it falls into the "doesn't suck" category. Peace.

-Surroundedbyincompetence

I do not own anything except that which has come from my imagination. All 'POTC' characters are being used as fodder for said imagination only, and I am in no way profiting from their use.

PROLOGUE

September 1689

**B**renna could feel the damp sand clinging to her aching body and hear the waves breaking against the rocks near the shoreline as she slowly, and with great effort, attempted to force herself into a fully conscious state. She didn't need to open her eyes to the harsh glare of the Caribbean sun to know where she was; the throbbing lump near her temple had not stolen away her memory of the previous night. A stinging gash on her knee also did nothing to distract from the horror she knew awaited her as she finally managed to open her eyes. She did her best to shield them from the blinding, late morning rays and struggled to bring herself to a sitting position. A light breeze cast strands of salt-brittle hair into her line of vision as she tried to focus on her surroundings.

Ah…there he was.

Peter lay motionless about thirty feet from where she herself had spent the night, at the edge of high tide. Neither had had the strength to crawl further inland to seek shelter, and the ocean had lapped at their legs during the twilight hours, leaving their lower bodies partially buried in the sand. 'An omen?' she thought, with a sense of dread, as she worked to release her legs and feet from the mire. Not trusting herself to stand just yet, she crawled on all fours and unsteadily made her way toward him, praying that he was still alive.

Brenna discovered that he had indeed survived the night, but his breath was shallow and labored. She knew he had struggled to remain at the surface as he swam the short distance from where the ship had been anchored, to the narrow crescent of beach where they now found themselves. Peter had been shot, the bullet passing clear through his left arm about four inches south of the shoulder, which made each stroke like a writhing fire in his bones. He had no doubt lost a lot of blood, even before leaving the ship, and the amount of water he must have ingested on the way to shore was surely not helping the situation. While not as critically injured, Brenna had still been dizzy from a blow to her head when Peter, unceremoniously, heaved her over the side of the ship in his haste to separate her from danger. That, combined with the tow of her heavy nightclothes against the current, had made her own journey a perilous one. But Lord knows he had probably saved both of their lives. She dared not think on what fate had befallen those who had not escaped.

Hovering over Peter, she tried to determine how best to move him. "Blast", she muttered, frowning as she inspected the wound that was turning an angry red around the edges, " I had hoped the sea would have cleansed that a bit." She shook him gently. "Peter? I need to get you up from here, see? Now, wake up for me. Wake up."

Failing to sufficiently rouse him, Brenna pulled him up as best she could. She tried to move him toward the shade of the nearby palms while not disturbing his arm too much in the process, but the wet sand clung to him, adding to his weight and making it impossible to drag him more than a few feet. He came fully awake as she lost her traction on the slippery surface and his body broke from her grip to flop back to the ground. Peter's eyes were shut fast against the overwhelming pain, and his breathing was a ragged mix of deep gasps and groaning. Brenna had never felt so helpless.

"Peter…Peter! Listen to me! I have to get you out of the sun, away from the beach. Do you think you can get up? Can you walk a little way if I assist you?"

Peter tried to open his swollen eyes as he nodded feebly, but didn't attempt to speak. It was obvious as he squinted into Brenna's concerned face that he too remembered what had transpired in the wee hours of the morning. He did not say anything as she brought her palm to his cheek. His normally lightly tanned skin was burned a bright red from exposure, but Brenna could feel that a fever had set in as well; a telltale sign of the infection she had feared. She helped him to sit up, then provided him some leverage in order to gain a standing position. He still had not spoken as she wrapped his right arm around her shoulders and braced herself as they stumbled together in the direction of the brush and palm trees that edged the beach.

Leaning him against a trunk for support, Brenna used a palm branch to sweep an area in the shade free of debris. Fallen banana leaves that had not yet turned brittle were laid down as a kind of cushion, and with no little difficulty Peter was lowered down to rest on them. He looked up at her then, his bloodshot eyes too dry to form the tears Brenna knew he would shed if he could. Blindly seeking her hand with his own, he croaked a feeble "I'm sorry", before once again passing out from sheer exhaustion.

"You've nothing to be sorry for, my friend."

**T**he streets of Nassau were teeming with people from every walk and station of life. As a man made his way through the market square near the docks, he marveled at the array of goods he saw displayed in the storefronts and roadside carts. Hawkers called to all who passed by, enticing them to come and have a peak at the treasures they offered from around the world. Silks and brocades; spices and exotic scents; jewelry, gems, bangles and beads of every conceivable color and size; anything anyone could possibly want could be acquired...for a price. There were even people to be bought and sold; not just the slaves, of which there was no short supply, but the pleasure of a woman's company was to be had for a mere schilling. Everywhere he looked there was something to catch the eye and fuel the unquenchable greed of those that frequented a port such as this. Call them what you would: Buccaneers, Privateers, Pirates-they were essentially all the same. A shameless, lusty lot they were, and proud of it!

But all of the finery and endless bustle around him would not distract him from his mission. His crew was busy with the task assigned to them, and he had assured them that soon they would be very rich men, Aye, if they would make all haste to complete their work. He had set out into town with more than enough Sovereigns in his pouch to garner what he needed, and to keep what he was about quiet at that. He knew that a little gold could keep a mouth shut tight, and the last thing he needed was some fool shooting off about black sails and such. He had already made purchase of said sails- not readily found, I assure you- and was now in search of a chap with gifted and steady hands.

He found the place he was seeking, and stepped inside to make the deal.

"You sure you be wantin' what you say you be wantin'?"

"Is that going to be a problem, mate?" the man asked, irritably.

"No sir! Just makin' sure that you be wantin'…well, what you said you be wantin'."

At the artist's acquiescence, the man extended his right forearm, wrist down, and placed it onto the small table set before him.

"Well, let's get on with it then! Time is a'wastin'", the man grinned. "_Savvy_?" he drawled, injecting a short sound of amusement at what was obviously a private joke.

The artist glanced at his customer once more with a look that spoke both confusion and apprehension. He knew the mark. Everyone knew the mark. What in the heavens had possessed this man to ask for it to be placed on him willingly? And the tattoo! _That_ tattoo! It just didn't seem right.

However, seeing the determined set of his client's mouth, and the maniacal glint in his eyes, the artist leaned over the outstretched arm to begin his work. No more words were exchanged. The gold had spoken.

As late morning crept into afternoon, a bird in flight, passing before a sun at the horizon, took shape on skin. At the nearby hearth, a small branding iron with a 'P' at the end glowed bright red-orange in the fire.


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

June 1689

_**K**_ing Edward's Cay lay along the eastern shore of a tiny, non-descript island about 30 miles due south of Port Royal, Jamaica. It was like any other island amongst the thousands that dotted the Caribbean with it's white sand beaches, scrubby palmetto thickets, and various tropical plants and fruit trees to provide food and shelter for whatever or whomever chose to call it home. The isle itself had no official name, even though the natives referred to it as "Chinchín", and indeed it was small, as the word implied. The two hundred or so inhabitants were all of Arawak descent, except for the governor, his family, and a few aging officers who were sent by the King's Navy to protect the harbor, such as it was.

Possessing only two docks, the shallow inlet could hardly be called a port. The one small sloop that had brought the English to its narrow shore remained only as a means of transporting supplies from Port Royal when they were needed, which was not very often. Life on the island was uncomplicated, and most of what was used by those that lived there was already at hand. Every family in residence tended gardens and raised livestock, and building materials were plentiful. The only tributes offered to the governor were the supplies they needed in order to live in reasonable comfort. Nothing else was required of the island's indigenous peoples, and they gained a measure of protection from possible looting, so they accepted the presence of a foreign rule with minimal fuss.

When the boat did make a trip to Port Royal, the most anticipated cargo it held on the return voyage was usually the lightest thing it carried: letters from "home". The information was often outdated when they arrived, as it took as long as two months for the notes to reach their intended recipients. But even old news was good news - and often the only thing that broke the monotony of life in such a secluded world.

And Brenna's world was definitely monotonous.

Dropping to the sand and stretching her long, brown legs out in front of her, Brenna Hastings watched as the surf rolled toward her, depositing it's foam just inches from the soles of her feet. She used to love to sit on the beach and watch the waves, but after seven years it was beginning to bore her to tears along with everything else about her life. With a weary sigh, she fell back to allow herself a full view of the intensely blue sky. 'Not a trace of cloud, as usual' she thought to herself with an almost disparaging amusement. She actually anticipated the stormy winter months with their wretched squalls and angry storms. The seemingly endless days of glorious sunshine had just become one more thing to detest. 'Oh how I wish for just one chilly, foggy day in London' she thought wistfully. It was hard for her to believe that she once had held the same disdain for London and it's soggy climate as she now held for the warm, tropical beauty that defined her current home.

Her eyes closed against the too-bright sun as she picked up a handful of sand and let it run out like water between her fingers. She felt her skin warm, and grinned mischievously as she imagined her mother scolding her, as always, about her appearance. Her skin had become so dark that she was easily mistaken for one of the natives, and her brown hair was unkempt and streaked from exposure. Having long outgrown the clothing she was wearing when she arrived on the island at the age of twelve, she had chosen thereafter to wear the simple clothing of the Indian women instead of the more traditional English styles still favored by her mum. The yellow cotton dress she was wearing revealed her calves, left her arms bare, and allowed all but her upper thighs and torso to become deeply tanned as she spent the days wandering about. Only her gray-blue eyes revealed her as someone who was not among the island's original inhabitants.

Brenna giggled as she thought of how scandalized her parents would be if those they had left behind in England could see her now. Between her exotic clothing-or lack thereof-and the sheer amount of skin that was currently exposed by it, they would all have thought that she was as mad as her father. She hiked her skirt up a little further to reveal as much of her legs to the sun as she dared, and continued to smile at the thought of nobles all a 'twitter about her "loose morals" and "obviously poor upbringing".

'Pompous windbags, the lot of them' she mused as she let her mind drift. She really did miss England; despite the occasional cold disdain she had felt from those of her same social standing. She knew why they looked down their noses at her, but she failed to understand how she was to be faulted for it, and therefore scorned. So what if her father was…_different?_! 'He is still Lord Oliver Hastings, and should receive the respect due him', Brenna huffed, "And I am his daughter", she proclaimed aloud, to no one in particular, "and I should be treated accordingly".

Lord Hastings had always been somewhat of an eccentric fellow, to put it nicely. While he was as friendly and genteel as any man could be, his mind was more than a bit muddled when it came to the practical things of life. His family had known this from the time Oliver was a small child, and for that reason sought to guard him in any way that they could. His older brother, Liam, had been given charge of the family's Southampton estate when their father, Lord Edward Hastings, passed away. The brothers were only 17 and 23 years of age at the time, and Liam did what he could to make life carefree for his younger sibling. But oddly enough, Ollie proved to be a kind of 'Idiot Savant' when it came to mathematics, so the task of bookkeeping for the household became his responsibility at the age of 18. Thankfully, Lord Edward had left all of his affairs in perfect order, so this proved to be a fairly simple job, and Ollie was content to do it. Well…until Dorothea arrived, that is.

Dorothea Waverly, the daughter of Count Vincent Waverly and Countess Irene Waverly, was as spoiled as a person could be. She was also beautiful, with curling chestnut hair and long lashes framing emerald eyes. Her soul, however, was black and greedy, and she saw great wealth to be gained in winning the affections of Liam Hastings. So she turned on her wicked charm with one goal in mind: marriage. A few tried to warn Liam of her less than honorable intentions, but her full, pink lips pouted their way right into his besotted heart, and she soon became Lady Dorothea Hastings. She could do no wrong, as far as Liam was concerned, and she cajoled and cosseted him into total submission to her every whim. Toward everyone else, she was rude, insulting and downright malicious-especially Oliver. She hated him with an unreasonable passion, seeing him as a threat to her position and pampered life, even though he posed none at all, for money held no sway over him. She teased and mocked him at every opportunity, but made sure to smile and speak sweetly to him in Liam's presence. This only served to momentarily confuse Ollie, and in his guilelessness he never thought to say anything to his brother about her duplicity. Dorothea's goal had been to drive Ollie away, but he never seemed to recognize her slights for what they were, which left her panting with frustration.

This went on for a few years, to no avail. When Dottie, as Liam called her, became pregnant with their first child, she decided to change her tactics. She knew that Liam would never forcibly remove his brother from their home; he was too protective. So she decided to "reason" with Liam, hoping to convince him that Ollie would be better off living on his own. When Liam laughed at her and showed no inclination to bend to her will in this one matter, she increased the pressure on him, claiming that her pregnancy was made more difficult by Ollie's presence. Liam couldn't imagine why that would be that case, since Ollie had many loyal and trusted friends who didn't hesitate to take such an agreeable chap as himself along on their adventures. As a result, he was frequently absent, and usually only returned long enough to balance the ledgers and pay a note or two. None of this mattered to Dottie. She wanted him gone, even if it meant resorting to violence, and began to have virulent fantasies about actually killing him herself. But as fate would have it, Ollie took care of the leaving part all on his own. The manner in which it happened, though, only served to make Dottie even more agitated, and her desperation grew.

No one had ever dreamed it would happen, but Oliver Hastings was in love! When he returned home, after a month long trip to Scotland, with a lovely young bride on his arm, everyone, with the exception of Liam, was shocked. Liam had actually known about Judith for some time, keeping her existence, and Ollie's feelings, a secret. Months earlier, Ollie had confided in him of his intentions to ask for Judith's hand. Liam couldn't have been happier that his brother had found someone to share his life with- if her father consented and she was willing, of course. Obviously Lord Hall had found Oliver acceptable as a son-in-law, because Judith Hall was now Judith Hall Hastings, and another perceived threat to Dorothea and her child's future.

Judith, however, could not have been more disinterested in the family's money. Ollie was all that she cared about. She was fully aware of his affliction, and knew that it would pose some challenges in the future, but his kindness, generosity, and gentle spirit had won her heart. While her own parents were very rich, she had not been a pampered child. Judith was intelligent, resourceful, and hard working, so even knowing that Ollie was not going to be the cleverest of husbands she was confident that their future would be a happy one.

Liam had wanted the new couple to stay at Hastings Manor indefinitely, but Ollie insisted, at Judith's urging, that he needed to have his own home. It hadn't taken Judith long to discern the hostility that Dottie attempted to conceal, so she knew that they didn't have the option of accepting Liam's offer to remain. Normally, an extra home and it's surrounding land would have been part of an affluent family's holdings, with the intention of it being passed on to a child as part of their inheritance, or on the occasion of their wedding to serve as their new residence. However, Lord Edward Hastings had not seen the purpose in maintaining more than one house himself because he had assumed that Liam would simply take possession of the Manor, and Ollie would remain there forever in Liam's care. He had not even considered that Ollie would marry- what kind of lady would want such a simpleton for a mate? So the Manor was the only residence the family owned, with the exception of an estate in Camberly, near London, that Liam had received as a wedding gift from Dottie's father. Liam noted that his new father-in-law had seemed all too anxious to relinquish both the daughter and the deed.

After the death of his parents, Dottie's father, Vincent, had inherited their estate, but he hated his family home and vowed never to live there. Vincent and his father had never been in accord- in fact, there were even allusions to abuse- so whenever the subject of his parents or his home was raised, he would set his mouth in a tight line and refuse to continue the conversation. Needless to say, he did not wish to return to a place that held such distressing memories, so the matter was not pressed. However, being a practical man, Vincent had not allowed the property to fall into disrepair. A staff was maintained to keep the house in order and the grounds groomed to perfection.

Vincent visited once a year to make sure that his investment was secure, and bided his time, knowing that some day the villa would be put to good use. He never stayed the night when he came, and never brought his wife and daughter along. He would arrive unannounced, hurry through the inspection looking more pale and jittery with each passing moment, and leave just as soon as he was satisfied that everything was running smoothly. When the Count was ready to depart he would hurry to his carriage, and the caretakers would always whisper to each other that he looked as if the hounds of Hades were at his back for he immediately urged the horses into a run upon gaining his seat. They never knew what ghosts apparently haunted him, or what specters dogged his steps. All they cared about was that he was a generous employer, and as soon as he left they would be able to enjoy all that the place had to offer for another year without the nuisance of a master.

All of Count Vincent's foresight paid off when his daughter met Liam. Countess Irene had ruined Dorothea, in the Count's estimation, by granting her every wish. Despite her father's protests, nothing she wanted had ever been withheld, and she had become an insufferable brat as a result. Vincent was afraid that no decent man was ever going to find her desirable, for even thought she was a great beauty like her mother, she had not inherited any of her mother's redeeming inner qualities. So when Liam came to him to ask for his consent to propose marriage, Count Waverly gave his blessing with wholehearted enthusiasm. Now, not only was he rid of his daughter's irritating presence, but he also foisted the villa off on Liam with the explanation that it was to serve as Dorothea's dowry, so he was finally free from overseeing the bane of his existence. Assured that the staff was competent to run things in his absence, Liam continued to pay them after the deed was turned over, but never cared enough to make the journey to see what had been given to him-even though his curiosity was piqued after Dottie relayed to him what she remembered about her experience there.

She had visited her grandparents only once, when she was seven, so her memories of it were vague at best. She did remember, however, that the place was enormous-a sprawling villa, with stables for her grandfather's prized horses, and acres of forests and rolling hills. She also seemed to remember there being a stream running alongside, with terraced gardens staggered down the slope from the veranda to it's banks. Her grandfather had loved to ride and hunt, and her grandmother had been content to spend her days with the flowers, but Dottie was averse to anything that remotely involved dirt, toil, or 'bothersome inconveniences'. She was afraid of bugs and spiders, and fainted dead away at even the mention of mice or snakes, so moving to Camberly had never crossed her mind, even if the villa was as grand as she recalled. Dottie did not enjoy the countryside, much preferring the refinements of the city where she now lived.

Liam loved Hastings Manor, had no intention of ever living elsewhere, and his wife hated the country, so he offered to give the villa to Ollie. Dottie was beside herself with rage! The house and land had actually been in Dottie's family for several generations, and though she had no sentimental attachment to the property, she had assumed that it would one day be passed on to her son when he married. It was worth a great deal of money, and Dottie would rather have seen it sold to a stranger than given as a gift to a man she loathed. But truth be told, Liam was simply too busy to be bothered with it, and when the situation with Ollie and Judith arose, transferring the house to them seemed the perfect answer. Though Dottie screamed her protests, her husband had become weary of her peevishness and would not be swayed from his decision.

So it was that Ollie and Judith made their way to Camberly, not knowing what exactly to expect from their new home. After a long days drive, the hired carriage turned off of the main road and began to make it's way up the winding drive toward the villa. They strained to see through the thick stands of beech and oak trees as they approached the house, and then suddenly…there it was! The newlyweds were completely dumbstruck. The sun was hanging low in the west to the left of the enormous structure, and it cast a pinkish-amber glow over the fresh-painted white of its façade. The roof was peaked and dormered, and dozens of multi-paned windows - graced with blue shutters and boxes full of blooming yellow pansies - were resplendent as they reflected the golden rays of the setting sun. Vast, precisely manicured lawns, interrupted by the occasional flowerbed, stretched in all directions and ended only when the verdant expanse abruptly met the dense forest that bordered the estate. It was certainly beyond their wildest dreams, and even after the driver had unloaded the trunks and bid them good evening, they stood agape, not sure that they were worthy of such splendor.

It was the overseers who finally rescued them.

The servants had been notified of the arrival of a new owner only two days prior, and were none too happy with the prospect of losing their freedoms. It was decided that no one would go out to meet them when they came; they would just watch, from whatever concealed vantage point they could find, and see if it could be discerned from initial impressions what kind of masters they would prove to be. It took only a few moments for the servants to realize that Ollie and Judith were overwhelmed, and not at all pretentious. One by one they emerged from hiding, introduce themselves, and disclose what function they performed in the household. The trunks were brought in, and the dazed pair followed in the wake of a procession to a bedroom larger than either of them had ever seen. With the hour being late, a young housemaid named Margaret turned down the covers of the bed, and promised to return with breakfast at seven. After an assurance that a tour would be provided in the morning, she bid them good night and gently closed the door. Neither one slept for the entire night.

Despite their initial apprehension, the next few years proved to be full of joy and laughter for the young couple. The villa was every bit as grand on the inside as it was on the outside, and they couldn't believe their good fortune. Even the staff had come to love them; taking to Ollie's good nature and Judith's intelligence and generosity with no complaints. When Judith became pregnant after only six months, they all rejoiced together. The excitement was palpable when her time drew near to deliver, and preparations were made with great care. The midwife predicted that Judith would have a girl, and she was correct.

Brenna Camille Hastings entered the world one chilly morning in early spring. Ollie named her after his grandmother, for whom he had loving memories in his heart. The late Brenna Camille Campbell had often cared for Ollie and Liam after their mother died, and the Scottish moors were a wonderful place for a boy to roam free. She was also one of the few people to encourage Ollie to develop his talents despite the obstacles, and that encouragement made all the difference to a young lad who never was expected to amount to much.

Under the loving hands of her parents, Brenna grew to be a delightful child. She was strong willed, to be certain, but her enthusiasm and enjoyment of life was infectious. The household staff adored her, and the world seemed to revolve around finding things to bring a smile to her face. Judith became pregnant again when Brenna was three, and they were all so wrapped up in their present state of happiness that it was almost as if another child would be an intrusion. But there proved to be no difficulty in making the transition from a family of three to a family of four when the new arrival showed her sweet face. It was love at first sight for all-even Brenna, whom they had feared would be jealous. They needn't have worried, for Brenna immediately became her sister's protector and companion, even though that meant she gave up much of the exploring that she loved to do.

Olivia Constance Hastings was the opposite of Brenna in temperament. She was quiet and obedient, and rarely cried. As she grew, she preferred to sit peacefully and play with her toys, or have someone read to her; she was not interested in exploring the forest and streams, as Brenna liked to do. Although named after her father, Olivia was more like her mother-delicate, reserved and sweet natured. She was just as lovely as her sister though, even if she was more petite and her facial features more refined. Their mother would often make matching dresses for the girls to wear when they received invitations to parties in London, and it was always mentioned what a pretty picture they made together. However, after the compliments were given, tittering and whispers about the girls' parentage commenced behind discreet fans and hands raised to cover gossiping mouths.

Judith was not blind to it in the least, and it made her blood boil. Her greatest concern was that her daughters would sense something was amiss, and ask questions. She endured it for the sake of introducing them to "society", as was proper for the high-born, but she made sure to keep a watchful eye out for those who might corrupt their innocence with openly sharp and condescending tongues. Judith was hoping to raise her children in a sort of 'in and not of' mentality; keeping them honest and pure in the midst of the lords and ladies whom she secretly despised with their twisted sense of decency and lack of compassion. Her trepidation grew every time they went to London. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before her impressionable daughters would have to go away to school. Tutors could only take them so far, and as much as she hated the idea, Judith knew she had to let them go for their own good. So, when Brenna was nine, she was sent to London to attend Briarwood Academy for Girls, and Judith prayed daily that the values instilled at home would not be eradicated there. Brenna was eager to go, and London had always fascinated the child, so Judith feared its influence. She knew how strong the lure of power and prestige could be- it was what she herself had fled when she married Oliver. Her distaste for the decadent aristocracy left a bitterness that lingered, and no matter her daughter's birthright, it was not an acceptable standard for them as far as Judith was concerned.

It was with great relief that she learned that Brenna would have at least one ally at the academy. Katherine Mayhew, Brenna's best friend, would be attending as well.

The Mayhew family lived just south of the Hastings' estate. Brenna and Kathy were only three months apart in age, and became fast friends after the Mayhews moved to Camberly when the girls were five. Captain Jonathan Mayhew and his wife Abigail were happy that their daughter spent most of her time at the villa. The child would have been very lonely otherwise, since her two older brothers, Christopher and Kyle, were sent off to academy a few months after the move. The boys had always tried to keep Kathy entertained because their father was usually away on business, and their mother was consumed with the household tasks since the family employed only one servant. Kathy was not inclined to join in the activities that her brothers thought were fun, but she enjoyed watching them as they climbed trees, fished, and swam in the pond. They would try to scare her with the bugs and frogs that they found, and though she always screamed and ran in disgust, she knew that her brothers would never do her any harm, so she secretly enjoyed their antics. Brenna filled the void in Kathy's life when they left, and the girls had been nearly inseparable in the years that followed.

When Chris and Kyle were home for summer break or for the holidays, the five children would often spend long hours playing together in the woods that stood between their homes. Brenna, being a tomboy, would usually join Chris and Kyle in whatever roughneck game they had devised to pass the time. Kathy, always the reserved young lady, would sit and play quietly with Olivia while the others grew dirty, sweaty, and usually scraped and bruised. Although Brenna was three years younger than Chris, and five years younger than Kyle, she could keep up with them in most any activity. As the years passed, Chris and Kyle grew to admire her more and more. She was not afraid of anything, and was often the one to initiate their more dangerous adventures. Sometimes they were glad to have Kathy and Olivia along to watch; not only because it was two extra pairs of eyes to make sure that they survived, but also because they wanted to have witnesses in case no one believed that it was Brenna who could get them into such trouble with her dares.

And Kyle had actually been the first boy to kiss Brenna.

Christopher, Kyle and Brenna were playing tag one sunny August afternoon, trying to capture a few final moments of freedom before leaving for school. Brenna and Kathy had been readying themselves for their first year of academy, and the stress was beginning to show on their faces. Kathy was in bed recovering from a late summer cold, and Judith knew that Brenna would not pay enough attention to her sister while she was playing, so she kept Olivia at home. Realizing that the glorious summer was coming to a close faster than they wanted it to, the three ran and screamed and laughed as much as they could through the pines that circled a small clearing near the center of the forest. Brenna was attempting to cross the clearing without being seen when Kyle appeared from behind a nearby tree and ran after her. With a squeal, Brenna sprinted toward the safe zone at the grassy center, but Kyle lunged after her and tackled her about five feet from her destination. They both hit the ground hard and Kyle sat up, straddled Brenna at her thighs, and proceeded to dance his fingers over her ribs, laughing and whooping at his victory.

Being uncommonly ticklish, Brenna shrieked, thrashing around and flailing at him in an attempt to free herself from the assault. Grabbing her hands, he brought them over her head to still them, and looked down at her red face as she gasped between her erratic giggles, trying to catch her breath. She lay there, flushed and grinning, with her hair in wild disarray around her face…and he couldn't help it. His faced turned serious as he suddenly dropped his head and captured her smiling lips with his own. Just as quickly as he had lowered his head, he threw it back and, with a look of shock that matched hers, rolled to his feet and took off running, disappearing into the trees.

Brenna remained on the ground for several minutes, her eyes wide and her fingers lightly touching her mouth. She finally moved when she heard someone approach. Lifting her eyes as a shadow fell over her, she was relieved to see Christopher standing over her, looking down at her with concern. She could see by his expression that he had witnessed his brother's actions, but he did not speak of it as he helped her to her feet and walked with her back to the Villa. Chris was the more sensitive of the two boys, and Brenna could hear sadness in the sympathetic tone of his voice when he said a simple 'Good-bye' and, after laying a hand briefly on her shoulder, turned to leave, disappearing into the woods in the same way his brother had. Brenna stood staring at her house, still in a state of shock, and listened to the fading sound of Christopher's footsteps as he made his way in the direction of home. Realizing that he had left without a response from her, she whirled around to call to him, but she could no longer see him in the dim light that filtered through the leaves, and her "Good-bye" came out so softly that she knew he never heard.

In the years that followed, Brenna shared a room with Kathy at school and they became closer than ever. The brothers, however, spent their summers with school friends at the coast, or in Southampton working for their father, who owned one of the shipyards that supplied the Royal Navy. Jonathan Mayhew wanted his sons to inherit the business, so as soon as they were old enough, he began to teach them the trade. Brenna would occasionally inquire of them, but the only response she received from Kathy was that they were fine, and doing well in their studies. She never saw them again.

Brenna feared that she would never see Kathy again, either, when she came home for the summer after her third year at Briarwood to discover that her father had been called into the service of the king. She felt like her jaw had become unhinged from her face as she took in the details of the way their life was about to change. Living on an island? In the Caribbean?! She had never been farther away from home than London and now they were going to be moving to what seemed like the other side of the world! Brenna sat in stunned silence and listened to her mother say that they were to be ready to sail in two weeks time. When Olivia walked into the room, Brenna took one look at her sister's tear-stained face, and knew that she had already been told. It was obvious that Olivia was terrified. Not only that, but she had just turned nine, and was eagerly anticipating the beginning of her own studies at Briarwood in the fall. Now they were being sent to an island so small that it didn't even have a name! Olivia's obvious despair made Brenna vow to be strong for her, so she held back the tears that threatened to overtake her.

With the servants left in charge of packing, the family made a brief trip to Hastings Manor. It was a heart-wrenching farewell for Oliver and Liam, knowing that it was very likely a final parting. Judith, who had always been very fond of Liam, also shed a tear when the few days that they had to savor together came to a close. Noticeably absent was Dottie, and Liam looked rather grim when questioned as to her whereabouts. An explanation was given to Ollie that she had gone to visit her mother, but when they had a few moments alone, Liam took Judith aside to give her a different story.

Judith had been puzzled at first when Liam asked to speak to her privately, but he seemed so distraught that she readily followed him to the library to find out what had caused him to look so dour during their stay. She had assumed incorrectly that it was just from the grief he was feeling over their departure. She left the library half an hour later, stunned by Liam's revelations, and didn't know whether to laugh or cry. What she did know was that, if all of the rumors were true, Dottie was not a person to be taken lightly, or underestimated when she felt threatened.

Dottie was in London, but she was not staying at her parent's home there. According to Liam, she had been involved with a high-ranking official there for over a year, and made frequent trips to visit her paramour when their son Elliot was away at school, or when he spent a bit of his summer break with friends, as he was doing now. Liam had only recently discovered that she was being unfaithful, and apparently had used her influence to make sure that Ollie was offered a governorship, even though it was well known that his affliction had kept him from being offered Parliamentary positions. When Liam inquired of the man who made the decisions about whom to send to the new settlements, he was assured that Ollie was being placed somewhere easy to manage, and that everything would be fine. Liam begged the man to reconsider, but the king had already signed the order. It was too late. Liam was in shock, to put it mildly, for he had remained unaware of his wife's hatred for his brother over the years. Now Ollie was leaving, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

The funny thing was that Ollie could not have been happier about the move. To him, this commission was the fulfillment of a lifelong dream, and he was thrilled. His wife and children were aware of this, so they had tried to keep their fears to themselves in order to spare his sensibilities. They would follow him anywhere, even to an unknown land and future.

At last, the clothes were packed and the few household furnishings that they had been allowed were carted to the harbor in Southampton. The ship that had been assigned to carry them and their belongings to the Caribbean hulked low in the water, packed to capacity with people and cargo awaiting a new home. Neither of the girls had ever seen a ship of this size, and it loomed over them, an ominous presence that creaked and groaned at its moorings, listing slightly toward them as if to whisper a nefarious secret.

They averted their eyes, trying to focus on the well wishers who had come to see them off. Captain Mayhew was there, since his shipyard was only a mile away from the passenger vessel docks. Brenna had already said farewell to Kathy before she left home, and through their tears they had pledged to write each other every week, and maybe even visit in the future. They knew that it was not likely to be possible, but they vowed to try anyway. Liam and Elliot were there as well, with Hastings Manor being so close.

No one was surprised that Dottie had stayed at home. Liam did mention, with no little sarcasm, that she had been most agreeable as of late, and a brief glance at Judith revealed her thoughts to him as if she had said them out loud. Judith would have gladly killed Dottie right on the spot had she shown her face. No one would have tried to stop her either, with the exception of Elliot, and maybe Ollie. Judith almost wished that Dottie were there, just so she could give in to anger, because her hands fairly itched to slap the little shrews face. Swallowing hard, Judith returned her attention to the group of people around her, and tried to content herself with mentally heaping coals on Dottie's head.

Everyone lingered as long as possible, but the last call for boarding finally came. Ollie handed the deed to the estate back to Liam, and embraced him one last time. Liam closed his eyes and sighed, hugging his brother back then pushing him away with a smile and a gentle nudge in the direction of the gangplank. Judith and Liam exchanged a meaningful look before she and the girls followed Ollie onto the ship. They were barely aboard when the command to weigh anchor was given, and they sailed out of the harbor toward the open sea without looking back.

_**B**_renna did not realize that she had fallen asleep on the warm sand until she felt something poking none too gently at her shoulder. Shielding her eyes, she looked up to see Olivia standing next to her head, nudging her awake with a bare foot. Brenna sat up quickly, a little dizzy from lying in the sun for so long, and yanked her dress down to cover her thighs. The breeze from the ocean had blown it a wee bit higher than even she liked, and she was still modest enough to blush slightly at the thought that someone may have come by and seen her lying there so wantonly. She scowled up at her sister, wondering what was so urgent that it was necessary to interrupt a perfectly good nap.

"I have been looking all over for you! Don't you know what day it is?" Olivia stood with her arms akimbo, looking so much like their mother in her indignation that Brenna had to hold back from laughing.

"Of course I know what day it is! It's Thursday, silly!"

"But it's supply day, Bren, not just Thursday! The boat returned from Port Royal nearly two hours ago, and I surely thought that you would be there to greet it when it made port. Did you forget completely?"

"No, Olivia, I did not forget. You know that I would never forget. But you also know that a letter is the only thing I am interested in, and I have not received one from Kathy in over four months. I was not going to hang about the docks like a fool, waiting for a letter that, once again, does not arrive."

"Well, you should have," Olivia scolded, "because this time you wouldn't have been a fool!"

Brenna gasped as Olivia suddenly produced a wrinkled, dirty envelope from the pocket in her skirt and began whipping it back and forth in front of her sister's face. Brenna snatched at it unsuccessfully for a few moments, and then tackled Olivia at her legs, bringing her to the ground with a thud. Olivia screeched when sand flew into her mouth and eyes, but Brenna didn't hear a thing as she finally took hold of the letter and read the front.

"Two and a half months! It took two and a half months to get here!" she exclaimed after seeing the postmark. It looked as if it had been through a war. Brenna tore it open carefully, praying that the sheets inside were in better condition than their packaging. Getting to her feet she began to walk slowly in the direction of the village, reading as she went. She didn't appear to notice when Olivia came trotting up beside her and fell in step, still sputtering and spitting, but just as eager to hear news of their friends as her sister was. Brenna's lips were moving silently as she read the precious pages to herself, and Olivia tried to be patient, knowing that she would have her chance as soon as Brenna was finished. When Brenna's mouth suddenly dropped open and she stopped dead in her tracks, Olivia became concerned and leaned in to try to see what her sister was reading. Her alarm grew when Brenna threw her arms up, and let out a yell that scared a flock of birds from a tree about a hundred feet away. With a joyous cry, she hugged the papers to her chest and ran as fast as she could toward home. For a few seconds, Olivia just stared after her in shock, then, not knowing what could possibly cause her sister to act like this, followed as quickly as she could.

"**_A_**h Tortuga! Gibbs, do ye think that life can get any better than this?"

"Well Jack, I don't suppose that it could. But a few more pints may certainly change me perspective."

"Then by all means, mate, have a few more!" Jack slurred, a little more so than usual, "I'll do me very best to match ye."

Taking their cups, they made a toast to gold and greed, then drank deeply, not caring that some of the liquid trickled in a broken line away from their mouths. They had apparently been at it for some good length of time, if one considered the wet stains on the front of their coats and their mellow state of mind. Jack leaned back from the rough plank table to swivel his head about, peering through the duskiness of the low-lit tavern in an attempt to spot the barmaid. He had some business to do with her, seeing as the bottom of his tankard had shown itself way too soon, and he had nothing better to do this night than to drink himself into a stupor. Ale wasn't what he wanted though.

"Where is that wench! She always disappears when I'm thirsty! I might as well go and gets some rum m'self, and pay m'self as well!"

Gibbs grinned at his friend's agitation, and chuckled. "If ye didn't paw the lass every time she was near, maybe she would be more friendly".

Jack turned back to face the teasing. His eyes flew wide in exaggerated astonishment, "But I'm Captain Jack Sparrow! She should be flattered…no!…_begging_ me to paw her, as you put it. And I can't very well grab me own arse, now can I? Now, where did the lass get off to…"

A wheezing laugh followed the pirate as he weaved his way toward the bar, broad stepping over fallen sailors and downed stools. When he finally reached the bar, he inquired rather suggestively as to the whereabouts of the lovely young woman who had served them earlier. None too happy about men groping his daughter, the barkeep leaned in to bring his menacing face about one inch from Jacks, and snarled something about letting Jack have at someone a little more _mature_, pointing a grimy finger to his left. Jack followed the digit with his eyes, and finally his head, until he found the woman the man was indicating. The hag tossed a toothless grin in Jacks direction, and winked suggestively. Instantly sobered, Jack closed his eyes briefly, and shook his head as if to clear the image from his mind. With a tight smile and templed fingers at his lips, he bid the man 'thanks, but no thanks' and proceeded to negotiate the acquisition of two bottles of rum.

"Two bottles? That's an awful lot of rum, mate. Don' ye be makin' a mess back there, hear?!"

Offended at the suggestion that he couldn't hold his liquor, Jack scoffed, then narrowed his dark eyes and feigned his best look of indifference.

"It'll take at least one o' these bottles to clear _that_ out of me head," he said, indicating with a sideways nod the woman who's company had been offered. "Th'other one is fer breakfast!" He flashed a golden smile at the barkeep and spun around on his heel, lifting his prizes in victory. Gibbs watched as Jack made his way back, not knowing if the unstable approach was due more to Jacks inebriation or his own unsteady vision. Reaching their table at last, Jack plunked himself down on the chair and proceeded to uncork the first bottle, taking a long swig as if he was parched. He then settled the other bottle between his feet for safe keeping.

"Hey!" Gibbs yelped indignantly, "Where be mine?!"

"Get yer own, mate." Jack grinned at him, leaning in to whisper in a conspiratorial manner. "Ye be a very rich man now, aye? Ye should be buyin' yer cap'n his rum, not the other ways around, savvy?"

"Right ye be, cap'n!" Gibbs agreed, at times still unable to grasp the fact that he was indeed wealthy. Scraping his chair back, he stood up with some difficulty, steadied himself with the edge of the table, and then pushed off, staggering in the general direction of the counter.

"Hey Gibbs!" Jack hollered after his friend, obviously amused. "Say hello to the fine lady fer me while ye be there!"

Gibbs looked back and shot him a questioning look. Jack saluted him with an upraised bottle, and laughed.


	3. Chapter Two

A.N. – Many thanks to those of you who took the time to review. I really appreciate your kind comments and hope that you enjoy the rest of the story. It is taking a little (OK, a lot!) longer than I anticipated to get these chapters out, and for that I apologize. I have had just about everything that could delay me happen in the last few months. Things have settled down a bit personally, but now my computer it on the fritz. It's always something. The fact that I can't edit this story in the same way anymore pisses me off too. Sorry that it looks strange now, but the program took out my paragraph indentations after the download and it won't let me put them back in. I hate that. Oh well. Hopefully you can deal with it if I have to deal with it.

Oh. I also changed my pen name. People were getting suspicious. LOL

RenegadeWriter (FKA Surroundedbyincompetence)

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CHAPTER TWO 

"**_M_**y, my. Now this be a sorry sight, eh, Cotton?"

Mr. Cotton's parrot was rendered speechless.

Anamaria used her booted foot to shove Jack's arm out of the path. He let out a brief grunt as the limb came in contact with his face which was plastered to the grimy floorboards, but it only momentarily interrupted his snoring. Rolling her eyes in disgust, she crouched down and grabbed her captain by the wrist, then proceeded to use his own limp hand to repeatedly whack him in the face. Jack came to with a moan slightly stifled by the fact that his lips had adhered themselves to the ground.

"Damn blast it! Stop slappin' me!" he grumbled petulantly against the wood as he tried to fend off the attack with the same hand that was already occupied in the task of smacking him. At any other time Anamaria would have laughed at the moronic struggle he was posing with himself, but the state in which she had found him only intensified her anger and strengthened the resolve to speak her mind. This was getting bloody ridiculous!

To her utter astonishment, Jack began to doze off again, slumping into the floor like a wet sack of oats. Crouching down and positioning her mouth about three inches from his ear, she shouted, "Top 'o' th'mornin', Cap'n!" which jolted him fully awake, not to mention made him fully aware of his throbbing head. "I see that ye 'ad a most enjoyable night," she sneered, "but y'might want to be getting up off the floor before they decide to throw ye out with the rest of the sweepings!" Looming over him now with arms crossed against her chest, she glared down at her sot of a captain, brown eyes flashing with fury.

Shaking his head in an effort to quell the ringing in his abused ear, Jack rose up a little to see what on earth she was talking about. He rested his head on the ground again after a quick assessment of the situation. He was definitely on the floor; most likely of the dim tavern he vaguely remembered entering the previous afternoon. One of his legs was twined through the spindles of an overturned stool, and two empty bottles lay on their side near his head. He grinned with fondness at the discarded vessels, but the grin turned to a grimace as every movement of his aching body reminded him of the tumble that left him in his current state of prostration.

"Anamaria, my luv, how are you this fine morning?" he said brightly, forcing a cheerful smile and giving a nod of greeting to Cotton. He struggled to sit up and sort out his tangled limbs and clothing. "And where be Gibbs? I could have sworn he was with me…" his inquiry trailed off as he righted himself and followed Anamaria's scathing look toward the table. Gibbs was laying spread eagle across it's top, and at some point a rather large apple had been placed in his gaping mouth leaving him with the appearance of a pig ready for the spit.

" 'Tis fitting, considering that he usually smells the part", Anamaria quipped, bringing a twist of wry amusement to her lips even as her eyes continued to throw daggers.

Jack was equally amused, and after a moment of surprise he leaned his forehead into the edge of the table and roared with laughter. Composing himself and rubbing the tears from his gritty eyes, Jack located his hat and plopped it onto his head slightly askew, then held out a hand to Anamaria.

"Give me a hand up, will you, darling?" he purred.

"I am _not_ your _'darling'_, or your _'lu_v, or anything except your first mate!" she intoned icily as she yanked him to his feet, literally tossing his hand away as soon as he was upright. "An' right now," she sneered, "Ye be late to your post, so I had Willits fill in for you." Jack gave her as innocent a look as he could conjure up but saw that her anger would not be assuaged, so he just shrugged his shoulders and plucked the apple from Gibbs' mouth. Wiping it off on his filthy jacket, he took a large bite as Anamaria scrunched up her nose, turned on her heel, and marched across the room, grumbling all of the way about 'irresponsible sons-of-bitches' and 'bloody pirates'. Jack just smiled winningly at her retreating backside, enjoying the view until she found her way to the door and slammed it behind her.

"Satan's whiskers, what a girl!" squawked Mr. Cotton's parrot, flapping his wings and ruffling his feathers in admiration. Jack just looked at him, and then at Cotton, who raised his eyebrows as if to say that he didn't know what had gotten into the bird.

"Go on after her, Cotton. We'll be along just as soon as I can get ol' Gibbs here sobered up."

When Cotton turned to leave, his parrot started to chortle and tick. The chattering bird winked at Jack, then burst into peals of staccato laughter as they made their way to the exit.

Jack turned back to the table to find that Gibbs had already managed to haul himself up. He had been awakened by the ruckus and was now seated on one of the stools, head in hands, looking decidedly pale and nauseous. With a groan, he looked up at Jack between his fingers.

"What be the time? I feel as if I just spent the last two days in the brig, drinkin' bilge water t' boot." He started to cough - nearly losing his breath in the effort - then spat into the corner, which brought a sharp rebuke from the man who was making an attempt to tidy the place up.

Narrowing his gaze and swinging back to face the door, Jack gave the question some thought. Cocking his head in contemplation, he turned cheerily back to his friend and drawled, "Well, mate, considering the wrath so eloquently heaped upon me head a few moments ago, I'd say it's at _least_ half past ten bells." Gibbs answered with another groan, but this time it was because he knew that they should have been back aboard the ship at least four hours ago.

"It's eleven bells and fifteen, t'be sure, ye sorry blighters! Now get on with ye, so's I can finish me chores!"

Feeling a bit guilty now, the two pirates shuffled their way to the door and stepped out into the blinding sunshine. Squinting in the direction of the docks about a quarter mile away they spotted the Black Pearl, and could see Anamaria as she boarded. Somewhat invigorated by the fresh salt air which greeted them, they made their way to the ship as quickly as they could, stopping only long enough to buy a small loaf of bread to share.

They knew there was serious trouble ahead when all work came to a standstill as they walked up the gangplank. Jack looked around at the suddenly idle sailors and bellowed, "I'm th' captain of this bloody ship, and I'll stay ashore any length of time I please!" Puffing out his chest and thrusting up his chin at an arrogant angle, he did his best to strut with absolute authority across the deck, scowling like a dark beast at anyone who dared meet his eye. Gibbs, on the other hand, had immediately slunk away to attend to his duties, not wanting to stick around for the fireworks that were sure to develop.

Jack made it about as far as the quarterdeck before he suddenly found his path blocked by a spitting she-cat. He stopped short and threw his head back when a long finger was thrust menacingly into his face. Taking a backward step to avoid being poked in the nose, he retreated as Anamaria advanced upon him in a fury.

"Jack, you bastard! How many time will I 'ave t'go out searchin' for ye, only to find…"

"That's _Captain_ Ja…" He interrupted, but she cut him off.

"I'll be _damn'd_ if I'll call you _captain_ after what I seen this mornin'!"

He tried to give her a placating smile. "Anamaria, darling, I…"

Slamming her eyes closed, she clapped her hands over her ears and screeched like a banshee. Jack winced, hoping that she wasn't going to hit him like she usually did when she was angry. That hurt.

Thankfully, she only stomped her foot in frustration. "Don't! Don't even think 'bout calling me darling, or sweetheart, or luv or any of that nonsense! I won't hear it! I'm going to me bunk, and I'm not comin' out 'til tomorrow! You can stand the first night watch, and the mid will be in your charge as well!"

Ripping out another frustrated growl, she turned her back to him and threw her hands in the air, exasperated beyond the breaking point. Jack made an effort to look unscathed by her words, but the slight droop of his mouth gave him away. He once again watched her retreat, but this time he didn't ogle her backside. When she was out of sight, his eyes found the deck and stayed there as he became lost in somber thought.

A consoling hand on his shoulder finally brought him back to the present. He turned a fixed and unreadable face to see Gibbs standing just behind him looking sympathetic but determined. Jack knew what was coming. He had heard the whispers and felt the tension for some weeks now, and was actually surprised that it had taken this long for it to come to a head. He sighed wearily and gave his friend a tight smile.

"Jack, I…" Gibbs suddenly found himself speaking to the palms of Jack's hands waving in his face. When the hands dropped, the smile had disappeared.

"No. No lectures, Gibbs. I knew…hell, we ALL knew that this was going to be hard to square with, aye? I didn't figure it to be bloody impossible!" He spat on the deck, still not able to believe that his crew could be so ungrateful.

Jack's pained look was reflected back at him by Gibbs' own pinched features. With another deep sigh bred of quiet desperation, they both turned to walk to Jack's quarters.

"We be pirates, Jack." Gibbs replied earnestly. "It ain't right t' be sittin' idle at port. No pillagin'? No sackin'? No carousin' and devilment? The crew, they be thinkin' that ye's gone soft. They ain't got much use fer a cap'n who's gone soft. It's great, havin' all of the gold that we could possibly ever want or need…but we be _pirates._"

__Spinning around, Jack drew himself up as tall as he could, and glared down his nose at his well-intentioned friend. Teeth clenched in fury, he curled his lips back and hissed. Gibbs retreated a wary step, suddenly thinking that maybe he had gone too far. But the deep wrinkle in Jack's forehead gave his apprehension away.

"Don't you think I know that?" He grated. His kohl eyes narrowed to black slits as he closed the space Gibbs had created and canted his head, gesturing wildly to make his point. "It is not a permanent situation, and I thought that they would enjoy a little rest and relaxation. I made a decision as captain with the best interest of me crew in mind. If they had a problem with it, mate, they should have spoken up a bit sooner! Savvy?"

"But they know that you feel beholden to William and are bothered that you might …"

Gibbs stared after him, the words dying on his lips as Jack turned on his heel, hastily finished the journey to his cabin, and slammed the door shut behind him.

Cursing under his breath, Jack ripped his coat off and threw it in the general direction of a chair. His hat followed. Neither one made it but he was beyond caring. He did take the time to carefully remove his effects and hang them nearby, then sat down on the edge of his bed with shoulders slumped forward and misery written in his posture. Feet still on the floor, he fell back so he could stare at the ceiling, hoping to find some answers in the knots and whorls of the wood above him. His brows knitted as he gestured at the planks overhead in inquiry.

"This is where having friends has gotten me. What good has come of it then?"

With no response forthcoming from the rafters, Jack grabbed a pillow and rolled to his stomach, tucking the feathered mound under his chest so he could rest his chin on his forearms. Dark braids came tumbling over his shoulders with the trinkets and beads woven into them making a pleasant tinkling sound as he lost himself in a study of the bed coverlet. It was a rich brocade the color of chocolate, decorated with scrolls and feathery designs in a slightly lighter shade of brown. Jack traced the patterns with one long, elegant finger; following its progress with golden eyes as he let his thoughts drift. Needless to say, he did not find any answers in the intricate details of the bedspread either. The rest of the bed dressings were made of muslin that was left in its natural cream-color state which complimented the cocoa shades nicely. All of it was well worn from many years at sea, but those years had also brought a softness that was most inviting.

Finding the lure of cool, cottony sheets too much to resist, Jack pushed himself up and rolled to his feet. He kicked off his boots, and not bothering to strip down any further he turned back the covers and wearily slid into the bunk. He knew that he would not be disturbed for there was really nothing to do until first watch. As soon as he found a comfortable position, Jack did his best to sleep. But sleep would not come.

With eyes closed, he tried to let his mind go blank so that he could lose himself in pleasant dreams, but all he was rewarded with were malignant doubts about the future. He tried to block the howling of his conscience by hiding his head under the pillow, but nothing would quiet the noise. His own scruples screamed at him that he had broken the code in some indirect way, but he couldn't say exactly how.

The "why?" was easy enough to understand, or so he thought. They were all rich beyond their wildest dreams and they no longer had to fight for everything they wanted. In fact, they could pretty much do as they pleased. Was it not enough? Apparently not. He knew that his crew was frustrated and bored, but he didn't know how to satisfy them and keep his promise to Will Turner at the same time. They were outlaws, and Jack thought that they would enjoy the luxury of holing up for a short time in a place where they would feel welcome. Obviously he had been wrong, but was he really going soft? He snorted with disgust at the absurdity of the idea. He was simply…misunderstood. That's all.

Jack gave up trying to sleep, sighing in futility as he withdrew his head from its hiding place and resorted once again to gazing blearily at the wood above him. Lacing his fingers together and placing them across his stomach, he listened to the scuffling sounds of his crew going about their various duties. He missed the chanties they used to sing as they labored. Sighing for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, he let the rhythmic 'thump-_swish_' of a mate swabbing the deck lull him into a light doze.

Tossing and turning on the bed, he was bereft and uneasy even in slumber but as the afternoon wore on he stilled, and at last fell into a deep sleep. He suddenly felt detached and strangely hollow, like he was watching his own actions from afar. Not exactly sure whether he was awake or asleep, he saw himself - _felt_ himself - walking the deck of the Pearl through a thick fog. Being so close to shore, this didn't seem odd to him as he made his way toward the bow, but it was strange that no one else seemed to be at hand. Pressing silence met his ears when he stopped to listen; he couldn't even hear the water slapping against the sides of the ship. A short sound of curiosity escaped his throat as he continued forward, waving his hands through the dusky cloud that seemed to have completely enveloped him.

It was the flutter of a skirt that caught his attention first. "Well now. That's interesting", he quipped, under his breath. He could barely make out the silhouette of a young woman standing at the rail about twelve feet in front of him. Her face was turned toward the sea, and her long dark hair was loose and whipping about like a willow caught in a high gale. Jack stopped dead, startled at the presence of a female other than Anamaria…and an obviously young female at that.

"Good evening, lass", he offered tentatively, extending his left hand and flicking his wrist in inquiry, which caused the mist around it to break apart like a smoky veil.

"Missy…?"

When she did not immediately respond he took a soft step forward, craning his neck to the side in an effort to get a glimpse of her face. With his hand still reaching out in what he hoped was a non-threatening gesture, he took another cautious step, fearing all the while that she was nothing more than an evanescent sylph sent by the Almighty to torment him.

His breath caught and he once again stood still, letting his arm return to his side as the girl slowly began to turn her head in his direction. He heard her deep, melancholy sigh, and it seemed to echo every one of his own. He could barely make out her profile, and he once again wondered if she was real for she didn't acknowledge his gentle greeting or his presence in any way.

He could see that she was lovely, and indeed very young. 'No more that twenty years', he thought to himself. 'And I don't recognize her. So, if she _isn't_ a dream, where the devil did she come from?'

From his vantage point he could make out long lashes and a pouting lower lip, but not much else. Being a man, he had to admit that he was a bit disappointed that her back was still turned to him, for he would have loved to know what lay on the other side. The thought amused him, and his full lips twisted into a smirk. Leave it to him to be curious about the physical charms of a woman who may very well be a hallucination.

As if to confirm his ponderings, her appearance suddenly changed. He inhaled sharply as the outline of her form began to disintegrate, and the shards of her image seemed to catch and reflect small bursts of moonlight as they tumbled outward.

"No! Wait!" Jack shouted, advancing in the direction of the fading vision. In his haste, he slipped and landed flat on his back, yelping in pain as his tailbone bit into the planks. He forced his eyes to remain open and he watched in helpless despair as the flashes of light once again coalesced before him, taking on the vague form of a girl before shattering apart and speeding in a thousand directions away from him like so many shooting stars.

The words were dying on his lips, echoing through his cabin in a hollow plea as he reached into the emptiness to grab hold of the shimmering image. His eyes flew open, and he wasn't sure for a moment where he was since he wasn't sure that he had been asleep in the first place. After a few moments, he let his hand fall back to the bed in utter dejection. It had been all too real, and he groaned in frustration when he realized that the lovely woman had only been a dream. Oddly enough he still felt dazzled, and had to blink more than once to clear his sight. His back hurt too, causing the line between reality and fancy to blur once again. Then he remembered his tumble from a stool during the previous night - surely the reason for his sore hindquarters now - and his disappointment was complete.

Feeling the walls closing in around him, Jack made his way to a cabinet that stood opposite his bed. He never locked it although it contained his most precious possession: rum. There was rum by the bottle and rum by the case. Smooth and spicy, it was the best to be found in the Caribbean - maybe even the world. He could afford the best, and since the entire crew could afford it as well he had no fears that any of them might think of relieving him of a flask or two unbidden. He twisted the cork from a selected bottle and tossed it aside, having no intention of returning it to its narrow home.

Slouching into the closest chair, he propped his bare feet up on the table, brought the bottle to his lips, and tilted back, using the motion to hasten the liquid to his mouth. After taking a few thirsty pulls, he lowered the drink to his lap and closed his eyes, willing the warmth of the liquid to flow through him. The sultry climate kept his room oppressively hot and stifling, so Jack's skin glistened with a sheen of sweat. On the inside, however, he felt a perpetual chill. It had settled in after the visit to Port Royal, and no amount of alcohol or radiant sunshine had been able to dispel it.

The front legs of his chair came down with a loud thump as he took another long drink. Leaning forward and placing his elbows on the table, he positioned the half-empty bottle in front of him and picked thoughtfully at the corner of the label. Entranced by the activity, his mind attempted to sort through the events of the last few months and tried to put together a sensible picture of what to do with the time that lay ahead. Unfortunately, what should have been a bright future was turning into a nightmare.

And it began with a couple in love.

When Liz and Will had made plans for their wedding, they insisted that Jack and the entire crew of the Black Pearl be in attendance at the reception. Of course, Commodore Norrington would be bound by the law to arrest them all, so it looked as if the happy couple's wishes would have to go ungranted. But always eager to manipulate - and having a calculated proclivity for requesting the most unusual wedding gifts - Elizabeth didn't hesitate to speak to her father, Governor Swann, about the matter.

Overjoyed to see his daughter so happy and in love, he was no match for her pleading expression and tearful insistence that her request was truly the desire of her heart. The proposal seemed simple enough, and Elizabeth presented it with such enthusiasm that the Governor was completely blindsided. Basically, she wanted her father to grant Jack and his crew clemency for one week, and one week only. The Commodore would not be allowed to touch them, and they would be able to leave unmolested. Her father agreed to the brief truce, and even let Elizabeth draft the necessary document herself. It was signed, and presented to Norrington before the ink even had a chance to dry.

The Commodore read it in disbelief, but showed no obvious signs of his mounting rage other than an ashen countenance and a steely gaze. Not only did the contract make concessions for the attendance of the pirates, but it also granted Jack and his crew absolute sovereignty over the Isla de Muerta along with all of the treasures it held. She had obviously added the bit about the island without the Governor's knowledge and, trusting his daughter completely, he never bothered to read it before signing it.

The elusive island had been the Pearl's first destination upon retrieving her captain, and with Barbossa dead Jack and his crew were once again the keepers of her secret. Norrington knew that some of his officers had been given the bearings and all of the crew from the Dauntless had been to the very mouth of the treasure cave, so there was always the fear that one of them would turn pirate and try to go after the riches. That was the last thing he needed, but giving sole rights of ownership and defense to… _Jack_?

James was still very fond of Elizabeth, but he had an overwhelming urge to strangle her. Did she realize what she was asking? 'Of course she does,' he thought sarcastically. Why else would she have looked so smug? The whole situation left an acrid taste in the Commodore's mouth. He wracked his brain attempting to find some loophole, but knew that this was a battle he was certain to lose.

Unable to override the Governor, Norrington tried to act as gracious as possible. Instead of screaming bloody murder, he offered to deliver the papers to Jack personally along with an invitation to the nuptials. However brief, the 'treaty' was a major blow to the Commodore's pride, so he wanted to make it clear that he was a willing party and did not have his hand forced in this injustice. Even though that was, in fact, the case, Sparrow didn't need to be aware of it. Elizabeth recognized the motivation behind his wanting to have a face to face with his nemesis; she was sure that James intended to stare Jack down, projecting any level of intimidation he could manage.

As usual, Will had not been consulted before Elizabeth put her plan into action, but when he was informed of the matter he insisted that Norrington allow him to tag along. There was a good chance that Jack would be on the defensive as soon as he saw the HMS Dauntless, so there was no telling what would happen. The Commodore could find himself in a very precarious position and no one was willing to take that kind of chance, especially with the defense of Port Royal limited by the loss of the Interceptor. Until she could be replaced they were at a disadvantage, and pirates in general could be most unpredictable, to say nothing of Jack. Will thought that they should start their search for Jack in Tortuga, and seeing as James had never been there before it made good sense for Will to act as an escort and liaison. One could never be too careful.

So the journey was made and sure enough, the Black Pearl was anchored in Tortuga's harbor, and the crew of the Dauntless never hoisted her colors so as not to draw undue attention. As they approached, the Commodore couldn't help but imagine that the ominous ship held the attraction of a sirens song, for even he lusted after her, with her billowing sails and graceful lines to seduce the most committed of men. He stood transfixed, lost in imagination until his thoughts conjured a picture of himself dressed in a buccaneers clothing, standing at the helm in high-heeled boots with a wide hat cocked jauntily on his head. It was the rather outrageous ostrich plume that bobbed from the imaginary hat that finally jolted him from his fantasy. He laughed aloud at the incongruous thoughts.

"Captain James Norrington…_Pirate_ Captain James Norrington…" he said softly, rolling the words off of his tongue as if to taste them. "Cap'n James…Cap'n Norring…"

He would have carried on if not for Will interrupting him with a hand on the shoulder. Wildly embarrassed, he hoped that his foolishness had not been overheard. Judging from the conspiratorial smile that he received he couldn't be sure, until Will leaned in to whisper, "Don't fret, _Cap'n_. I've had similar thoughts, only I was…" he lifted his hands to dramatically frame the words in the sky, "…Cap'n Turner, Terror of the High Seas!" James snorted and then smiled, his discomfiture eased by Will's admission.

"She is a beautiful and enviable ship, Commodore. Don't be ashamed of desiring her, any more than you would be ashamed of desiring a beautiful woman. Just stay mindful that Jack is a jealous lover."

Both men looked toward the Pearl as they anchored about one hundred yards off of her starboard side. Judging from the activity on her decks, the presence of the HMS Dauntless was already noted, and not being taken lightly. As James peered through his glass to determine the next move, he saw Captain Sparrow emerge from somewhere below and sashay across the deck to where Anamaria stood pointing toward their unwelcome visitor. He was amused as Jack took his own glass and searched them out, commencing a cycloptic stare-down that lasted several minutes. James was the first to break, tired from the journey and simply wanting to get this whole business over with so they could go home. He ordered a longboat to be readied, and set out with Will to meet his enemy.

Even though he was genuinely pleased to see Will and hear about the impending marriage, Jack was not particularly receptive to Norrington or the plan. It took three days for him to be convinced that it was not a trap, and he was still wary when he signed the papers, for he harbored a vague but nagging twinge of regret and unease.

Four days after her arrival, Jack watched from a window as the Dauntless left Tortuga in her wake. Pressing his forehead against the cool glass, he turned the idea of this "invitation" over and over in his head and considered the promise he had made to Will when they had spoken privately. Will had pleaded for Jack and the crew to "lay low" for a while after the wedding since Norrington was not as complacent as he seemed to be about the situation. Will assured him that the Commodore would waste no time in pursuing the Pearl as soon as he was able, so Jack grudgingly agreed to take a short break. The question was how to tell the crew about it, for he had not consulted them.

He had no clue as to what their reaction was going to be, but he couldn't possibly have prepared himself for the profound silence that greeted his announcement. He expected cheers and his smile died as, one by one, the deflated men (and woman) answered with a listless 'Aye, Cap'n', before drifting off to return half-heartedly to their tasks. Even with the anticipation of the wedding and a future of luxurious abundance, it was still a disaster. He had assured them all that they would be back to their old scalawag selves very soon.

But _how_ soon?

That was the question that plagued Jack Sparrow, haunting him in the wee hours of the night and driving him to the taverns every day in an attempt to drown his sorrows. They had kept their end of the bargain, returning to Tortuga after the wedding and only leaving once to make a trip to Isla de Muerta for more gold, having given the rest of their supply to William and Elizabeth as a gift. The crew was becoming more restless as each day passed, and the sullen silence that fell when their captain was present sent a chill through his bones. He heard them whisper amongst themselves that they had become a laughingstock, and that the venerable Captain Sparrow was now nothing more than a neutered pup destined to fade into obscurity.

Jack pulled himself back from his depressing thoughts to glance at a map left half folded at the other end of the table. He pushed the almost empty bottle of rum aside and brushed the flakes of torn label onto the floor as he reached over, took hold of the sketch, and opened it carefully on the table before him, looking it over with satisfaction. He had made it himself and was most pleased with the results. It was not complete, as he had only drawn in the islands at this point, but he considered his knowledge of the area to be superior to just about everyone else's. It included every island in the Caribbean that he knew of except for the Isla de Muerta.

Letting his finger come to rest on one island in particular he tapped it lightly once, then traced it's outline as his mouth curved into a rare, genuine smile. "Ah, Papa. I wonder what _ye_ would have to say about all of this?" His voice was touched with fondness. How long had it been since he had seen the man that raised him? Three years? Four? He could not remember, but he knew it had been far too long since his last visit. He continued to tap lightly, this time on his lips as they once again stretched into a grin. A sparkle touched his eyes as a possible solution began to take shape. Suddenly invigorated, he grabbed the momentarily forgotten bottle of rum and finished it off with a flourish, then let out a 'whoop!' as he sent the now empty vessel crashing into a wall. Without even bothering to put his boots back on, he strode with renewed energy across the cabin and out the door.

00000000

****

**_B_**renna sat on her bed, doing her best to brush the many tangles from her hair. She pulled a few of the long strands forward so she could better see what she was doing, and worked at a particularly stubborn knot.

"Good heavens! There is a bur stuck in there…at least, I_ hope_ it's a bur." She picked at it until she found the hard center. "Aye, just a bur", she confirmed, and attacked the next section with a vengeance. "How and why did I ever let my hair become such a mess?"

"Because you are lazy and an unrepentant slob, that's both how and why. Do you need some assistance?"

Brenna turned around to greet her sister, but didn't acknowledge the matter-of-fact assessment of her situation. She did, however, accept the offer of help. "Yes Olivia, my dear, perfect sister," she cooed, batting her eyes. " I could most certainly use your assistance. Would you mind fetching the scissors from mother's sewing basket? The ends of my hair are ravaged."

Olivia stuck out her tongue and left the room in a huff, but returned after a few minutes with the scissors and proceeded to separate Brenna's crisp hair into long sections. The parched ends stuck out in crazy disarray and Olivia snipped them off carefully, doing her best to only remove what was damaged. When that task was complete, Brenna went down to the washroom and took a leisurely bath with rose scented soap. She let her hair dry, and then brushed it out once again into a shimmering, sun-streaked mass that fell to her waist. After braiding it into a single plait she tried to coil it at the nape of her neck, but it had been so long since she had worn her hair up that the efforts were clumsy. Her jaw clenched as she repeated the twisting again and again until she finally managed to make a presentable chignon. Pinning it into place, she then turned her attention to the collection of clothing on her bed. It was pitiful.

Brenna pursed her lips as she surveyed her meager wardrobe with dismay. All but one of the dresses was the kind she wore every day…short cotton frocks that were only acceptable on the island. The one proper dress was not very old, but she wasn't sure that it would still fit. She had received it for her sixteenth birthday, so hopefully it would only need to have the hem let out a bit for though she had grown at least a few inches taller over that past three years, her figure had remained slim.

She shook the garment to fluff out some of the wrinkles and then held it up to her body. It was made of very light blue poplin, so the color was flattering to her pale eyes and dark skin. The style was simple - just a hint of bustle at the back and a plain, lightly boned bodice with a square neckline that was trimmed in white satin cording. A delicate Venetian lace, handmade by her mother, flounced over the wrists under the slightly belled sleeves, and Brenna prayed that it would camouflage her rough hands and chipped nails. It didn't matter really because it was the only thing she had to wear, so it would have to do. The undergarments were another matter entirely. She had none, aside from a single petticoat and one pair of bloomers that were very worn and thin.

"I guess it's a good thing that I have the figure of a boy", she declared, "For I have no corset."

"And you have no stockings, no shoes, and no wrap!" Judith scolded as she swept into the room, carrying an armload of jumbled fabric.

She tossed the bundle onto the bed and began to sort through it. There were mostly old shifts and chemises that would have normally been used as rags, but now they were needed for there was no way that she was going to let her daughter go anywhere without some more modest undergarments. Judith clucked her tongue, chiding herself for letting her daughter run the island all of these years like a wild thing. There was no way that she was going to be welcomed in polite society looking like a street urchin.

"And you do not have the figure of a boy! Your hips are slim, child, but I think that you have filled out quite nicely. The bodice of your dress is boned so it should not be an immediate problem, but you will have need of a corset when you go to the dressmaker. Make sure that you purchase at least two."

Judith held the worn items up to her daughter to judge the size. They would all have to be made smaller, but they would do until Brenna had a chance to purchase new things.

"Is it going to take very long to fix these, mum?"

"Maybe a few hours at the most, if both you and Olivia help with the basting. Corrina is in the process of packing the rest of your things. Lord knows what we will do about shoes!" As if in cue, Corrina, the young housemaid, scurried into the room and Brenna gave her a brief smile as the girl placed the toiletries she carried into the trunk.

Brenna hated to sew, but this was too important to even think about complaining. After selecting the most promising items, they quickly ripped out the seams and began to re-assemble the pieces. Judith pinned them together where they would be sewn to fit Brenna's slim figure, then hurried out to the sewing room with Olivia on her heels. Promising to join them in a few minutes, Brenna breathed a sigh as she walked to the window to try to catch a soothing breeze and a few moments to think. Several minutes went by as she stared out past the garden toward the ocean. She could just make out the sound of the surf breaking over the bluff that rose high above the surface of the water, and its rhythmic hiss calmed her jangled nerves.

Everything had happened so quickly.

When the letter arrived from Kathy saying that she would be paying a visit to Port Royal, Brenna was overjoyed! Captain Mayhew had been given the commission of building a ship to replace the HMS Interceptor, and now that it was complete he was delivering it to Port Royal personally. He wanted to be assured that Commodore Norrington would find her to be acceptable for his needs. Kathy had begged her father for permission to accompany him so that she could visit with her dearest friend, and she had quickly sent word to Brenna of their plans. The only other details were an approximate arrival date and the fact that they would be staying at Governor Swann's. Kathy had made sure that Brenna would be welcome there too, so that they could all be near to each other. Kathy said that the Governor's daughter had married recently and was no longer living at the mansion, so there was plenty of room for guests. Brenna had never been to Port Royal, but had heard that the home was quite lovely, so she was looking forward to a little luxury again. She didn't resent her current lack of the finer things, but she was also not opposed to taking advantage of the chance to indulge a bit.

But the joy she felt at her friend's visit was immediately overshadowed by urgency. The correspondence had taken so long to find its way to the island that Brenna had blessed little time to prepare herself for the journey. According to the letter, Kathy would be arriving in just two days! There was really nothing for Brenna to do but pack and sail to Port Royal as soon as possible, but considering the state of her wardrobe a few months notice would have been advantageous. Fortunately, Ollie and Judith had enough money set aside to allow her to purchase clothing, so it was to be the first thing on her agenda once she reached Jamaica. The makeshift garments now in the skilled hands of her mother would have to suffice for a few days until her new things were ready.

At the moment though, clothing was the last thing on Brenna's mind. She focused on trying to etch the lovely scene from her window into her mind. Turning back to look around her room, she willed herself to absorb it's warmth and essence, wanting to carry it in her heart always. She fought back sudden tears as she caught a glimpse of her mother rushing by, haste crackling in every rustle of her starched skirts. Judith popped her head into the room to see what was talking her daughter so long.

"Brenna? Brenna! Do hurry dear. We have no time to waste! The ship leaves port in two hours and we have to finish these seams and get you dressed!"

"Yes, mum." Brenna replied distantly.

"Well come along then. Lets make sure that what we have pieced together is adequate. We cannot keep the captain waiting."

Shaking off her reverie, she followed her mother into the sewing room. They quickly checked the measurements of the undergarments, and finding that they were a perfect fit the three worked hastily for about two hours to sew the final seams. When everything was finished, Judith and Olivia helped Brenna into her lengthened dress, and then handed the rest of the pieces to Corrina. Judith procured a pair of her own shoes, even though they were a bit too big. They stuffed a wad of extra fabric into the toes so they would be less clumsy, and Brenna took a few minutes stumbling back and forth to get a feel for them. Between the awkward shoes and the heavy gown throwing off her sense of balance, she felt like a baby just learning to walk. When they were confident that she would not fall flat on her face, Judith called for the driver to bring the trunk out to the carriage. The family followed him down, and after hugging her parents and sister good-bye Brenna hopped into the seat beside the driver and settled in for the ride.

She looked back as the carriage rolled away. The threesome was standing together watching her departure and she waved to them, once again trying to burn the vision into her brain. There was a disquieting sense of melancholy and loss that hung in the air, and Brenna once again felt the overwhelming need to absorb as much of her surroundings as possible. She slowly drank it all in as they made their way toward town.

She had not confided in anyone that she wanted to return to England with Kathy, and she knew that she would only have a few weeks time to conspire with her friend and negotiate her freedom. She actually didn't think it would be difficult to convince her parents that it would be for the best. She was positive that the Mayhews would be more than willing to let her stay with them, and her mother had already been saying for at least the past year that Brenna needed to be where there were eligible young men to court her. Judith feared that her eldest daughter was destined to be an old maid, considering her tomboy ways and apparent disinterest in the future. Little did she know that Brenna was thinking of her future almost every waking moment, and had simply not wanted her dear parents to know that she was growing more anxious each day of being stranded on the island forever. She was not entirely sure that she had the nerve to go through with her plan, so she had remained silent. She hoped that Kathy would help her make a final decision about what course to take.

The carriage gave a sharp jolt as one wheel bit into a clump of pampas grass that had found its way onto the sandy trail. The jarring broke through Brenna's thoughts and she looked up. The path they followed had taken them from the high hill where she lived and brought them down to the same level as the sea, and as they approached the village, she watched the children running along the beach in search of clams. They called to one another in shrill, excited whistles when they found a particularly promising spot, and worked together to dig up as many of the mollusks as possible before the impending return of high tide. The water and its gifts fascinated her, and she inhaled deeply as she felt the oceans cooling breath on her face. It swept the cobwebs from her mind and caused her heart to throb in a sweet ache that constricted her throat for a moment with a burst of ardent emotion and excitement.

_'The burgeoning tide is my seducer, calling me out and beckoning me to follow it to my destiny_!'

Brenna laughed out loud at her melodramatic thought, but the mirth faded on her lips as she gave the idea serious consideration. "The sea, my lover?" she whispered, her fingers touching her lips as if to feel the truth as it was spoken. She had never thought of it that way, but in refection it made sense. She had always gone to the water with her problems and fears. It had comforted her on countless occasions and given her peace when she was troubled. It's strength had brought serenity and solace, and even when she feared it's wrath she loved it. She wanted it to consume her even as it inspired her and set her free, and she knew that her final wish would be to die in it's arms. After setting sail she would be at the mercy of her beloved. Her spirit soared.

Eyes wide with wonder, she gazed at the aquamarine expanse and smiled. Mesmerized by it's beauty, she watched as a white-capped swell mounted up and raced toward the shore. Sun shone through the turquoise wave turning it a radiant emerald - a sparkling and striated viridescent peak webbed with gossamer foam. Another crest formed along side the first…than another…and another. They met the sand in succession, and Brenna imagined that they were groping like fingers that wanted to touch and caress her as they surged forward. At the shore she usually sat just out of reach, but occasionally the water would leap up and swirl around her toes, tickling and courting her before sighing away in defeat, breathing a raspy _"…someday…" _to her lonely heart.

Tearing her eyes away from the horizon, she looked forward to mark their progress. She caught a sidelong glace from the driver, and wondered if he had heard her strange inquiry. She was sure that she had not said anything loudly enough to be overheard, but he was looking at her oddly. Ignoring his scrutiny, she almost giggled at the thought of being _anyone's_ lover. The water she understood. Men? That was another matter entirely.

Brenna's thoughts turned back to her journey as the carriage finally reached the cobbled street that meandered it's way down to the dock. She could see the HMS Brighton where it was anchored about fifty yards off shore waiting to take her to Port Royal. Inhaling deeply to clear her head, she sat up straighter and watched with keen interest as the few sailors on board the ship noted the carriages approach and sprang into action. The ship had been moved out away from land because the tide was too low to have her safely come in closer. Brenna would have to be taken out in a longboat, and there were two already tied to the dock, bobbing in the inlets gentle wake.

Captain Knockles was waiting for them at the end of the road, and he reached for Brenna's hand as soon as they were completely stopped. The captain had always been a good friend to her - a second father, of sorts - and had taught her everything she knew about the ocean and it's mysteries. They exchanged wide smiles as he helped her alight, and his flirtatious wink made her giggle. Calling another sailor to assist the driver with the trunk, Knockles lead Brenna by the hand he still held and walked with her to the first small vessel.

"You are looking quite lovely, my dear. How, pray tell, did your mother manage to wrestle you into a proper dress?"

The twinkle in his eye made her giggle once again, for she knew that he was teasing and had never disapproved of her usual clothing. He had in fact often implored her to try wearing trousers, for he had wanted to teach her all about the ship and it's handling, not just about the sea she sailed upon. Any attempt to teach her such things while she was wearing a simple shift would have been unwise, and probably a bit scandalous.

"Well, kind sir, it was not easy I assure you!" she replied haughtily as he helped her down into the longboat. "She had to threaten me with violence before I would comply, and I made sure that she knew of my displeasure!"

She glowered in feigned annoyance, and set her mouth in a defiant line. Captain Knockles was laughing so hard that she feared that he would not be able to manage his own descent into the boat. She could hold off her own laughter for only a moment before she joined him. Still cackling, the captain leapt down into the boat, then ordered a sailor to cast off the line. He settled in and they began the journey to the ship.

"I missed you yesterday, pet. Did you have much to do to prepare?"

"Just gathering my extensive wardrobe."

They both laughed again, then Brenna glanced back at the other boat. He saw her hesitation, and the subsequent crestfallen look on her face took him by surprise. Hoping that they were out of earshot, she continued.

"I have also spent some time alone, thinking and planning."

The captain gave her a long, thoughtful look. He could see that she was struggling, and he knew her well enough to guess the source of her indecision. Gentleness filled his voice as he spoke the words that she couldn't seem to find.

"You do not intend to return, do you."

Brenna sighed, and closed her eyes. It was a statement, not a question, and her shoulders slumped in dejection.

"Do you think I am making a mistake? I have not told anyone, but I am not surprised that you are able to read me so well. I love my parents and sister. Is it so wrong to want more from my life? To want adventure? Romance?"

Shaking his head, the captain chuckled. Brenna implored him with her gaze, begging for absolution and understanding.

"Brenna, my dear, you are nineteen years old. You are no longer a child, so who would take from you your freedom except you? You have a right to it, and should not be ashamed to desire it so earnestly. What does your heart say?"

"My heart is broken. How can I leave my family? My father needs me. My mother needs me. And how can I leave Olivia here on her own?"

The torment was written on her face, not just in her vehement words. She looked away, her eyes darting back and forth as if watching scenes of her loved one's world falling apart in her absence. Captain Knockles had the urge to laugh again, but wisely held back. Brenna's sincerity rang clear, but the man knew her concerns to be false. How could he convince her that her family would not feel abandoned?

The captain was friendly with both Judith and Ollie, and he knew more about what was happening on the island than just about anyone. He had spoken to Judith on several occasions in the past few months, and he knew she was concerned about Brenna's future on the island. Little did Brenna know that Judith had already been considering sending her daughter back to England, and that Ollie was in complete agreement. As for Olivia, she was much more clever and devious than anyone gave her credit for. She was in love with a native boy, and for months had been stealing away with him at every opportunity. Brenna's feelings of obligation may have been misplaced, but the captain knew that the truth had to be approached lightly so as not to upset her more than necessary.

"Your father and mother did just fine before you came along, Brenna. As for Olivia…well…she would miss you, but she is also a young lady. Thoughts of a husband and family are surely with her, and she will be doing her own seeking in the near future, don't you agree?"

Honestly, Brenna had not considered it. To her, Olivia would always be her _baby_ sister, but her racing heart began to beat more normally as she thought it through. The rhythmic pulling of the oars in the water resonated with the tugging at her soul, nudging her persistently away from all she was comfortable with and all that was safe and predictable.

"You may not get this opportunity again, and you are ready. You can not contend with fate.'

Softening a bit, she turned back to look at him again and saw no hint of insincerity in his weathered face. Bright blue eyes sparkled at her from under his bushy, gray brows and she knew that he spoke the truth. A new resolve surged through her and straightened her spine, so she took her second deep, restoring breath of the day and slapped her hands down on her knees in a gesture of finality.

Coming up along side of the Brighton, the captain stowed the oars and reached up to capture the lines that had been lowered down to secure and hoist the boat. Brenna's face was glowing as he helped her onto the rope ladder and she began her ascent. She paused for a moment and looked down at him, appreciation and love shining in her eyes.

" 'tis settled then?"

Her brilliant smile was all the answer he needed.

00000000

**_T_**hey set sail almost immediately after the second longboat was secured and Brenna's trunk was lashed to the deck. A brisk wind sent the sloop flying across the water and Brenna took her place at the rail, letting the breeze sweep through her loosened hair. She knew that it would be a tangled mess again at the end of the journey, but she didn't care. High, wispy clouds were stroked across an impossibly blue sky, and the sun was hot liquid gold. Gulls and terns made her laugh as they swooped and swirled, gliding on the vents for long seconds then dropping to the sparkling sea in efforts to retrieve a meal. Everything felt _right _for the first time in as long as she could remember.

But as her thoughts turned again to her family she felt a longing and sadness that burned in her chest. She knew that she would see them again before she left for England, but the implications of her decision weighed heavy nonetheless. Distant, fond memories of her early years on the island, as well as more recent events, turned her expression pensive as she stared out over the vast expanse of cerulean water.

She sighed, suddenly feeling detached from her surroundings, and realized that she heard someone approaching and apparently trying to get her attention.

"Missy…?"

She turned her head to acknowledge the voice.

No one was there.


End file.
